


The Frog Doctor

by Thispe



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: ACD Canon, AU, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Crack, Fairy Tales, Holmes is a Prince-Detective (naturally), It's not easy being green, M/M, Magic, Silly, The Frog Prince, Watson is a frog, not Disney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thispe/pseuds/Thispe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In search of mystery and adventure Prince Sherlock of Holmes comes down from the castle and finds a frog. Luckily Watson doesn't take no for an answer, else he would be stuck like that forever.<br/>A Holmesian rewrite of the classic fairy tale 'The Frog Prince'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Frog Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written Summer 2009. A big thank you to my Beta reader nevermore_1106 (June). I'm ashamed that despite the work she put into it, this is the first time I have posted the Betaed version since writing it.
> 
> The story is an exercise in silliness and old fashioned English. Read at your own risk.

It so occurred that one Saturday afternoon, the Prince came down from the castle to the forest in search of mystery and adventure.  
Prince Sherlock of Holmes looked every part princely; from his tall, lean form and the elegance of his long-fingered hands to his aquiline nose and regal brow. Even his eyes, piercing grey as they were, and his coal black hair, spoke of an ancestry that was far above common.  


His behaviour, on the other hand, was so queer and un-princely – from the way he threw himself in the mud to search for clues; the smell of ghastly chemical fumes that ever clung to his clothes, up to his refusal to follow even the most basic of social niceties, that everybody in the town of London called him in jest (and well behind his back) not Prince Sherlock, but instead Holmes. Just what they would have called him if he were a fisherman or a baker instead of a Prince.  
Prince Sherlock was King Mycroft's younger brother, though many said (also in jest and well out of both men's earshot) that the King's substantial girth must be counted as a brother in its own merit, which surely made Sherlock not the youngest, but the middle brother of three.  


King Mycroft did not mind Prince Sherlock wandering the town and surrounding woodland all day long. He had the vague notion that it was only proper for Princes to go seeking out adventures. He might have changed his mind if he had known that his brother was searching for murderers, thieves and poisonous plants, rather than dragons needing to be slain and fair maidens waiting to be rescued. But he didn't and so Prince Sherlock continued on as he always had. And, it should be noted, never had the dungeons of the castle been so full of the deserving and so free of the wrongly accused.  
  


On this particular Saturday Prince Sherlock explored a part of the forest he had not been in for many years. He had a feeling that he might find something interesting, and the rumours of a dangerous Sorcerer living in these parts were whetting his appetite. After hours of search he happened upon a deep pond with a frog in it, so big that it had to sit on a rock near the shore rather than the traditional lily-pads, as they could not have borne its weight.  


“Good afternoon,” said the Frog politely.  


“You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive. As an Army Doctor, no doubt,” said Prince Sherlock in lieu of a greeting. “What misfortune that you were cursed into the shape of a frog shortly after your return to the home country! I wouldn't wish it on anyone.”  


“How on earth did you know that!” the Frog asked in astonishment.  


“Elementary, dear Sir Frog – I couldn't help but notice that you talk. Surely you must admit that is quite unusual for your species. With rumours ripe of a Sorcerer around these parts, what else could you be but cursed?”  


“That truly is absurdly simple,” admitted the Frog. “But how did you know all the rest? Surely you must have plucked it straight from my thoughts!”  


Prince Sherlock preened under the attention.  


“Wrong!” he exclaimed dramatically. “That black Doctor's bag, sunk there in the water beside your rock and with the initials J.H.W. stencilled upon it, shows me that you are a Doctor clear as day! The regulation cut of the moustache upon your green lips, the way you hold your body even in this grotesque shape, all tell me that you are an army man far better than your thoughts ever could. It takes but a moment to notice the barely healed wound upon your thigh, and see it as a bullet wound!  


It so happens that I had the opportunity to write a monograph upon the differences in colour between our native species of frogs and foreign, poisonous varieties. I do notice that the green of your skin is several shades darker than it should rightly be. Now tell me, where in the world can a Soldier of this foggy and wet country get a bullet wound and a tan all at the same time?”  


“In Afghanistan, of course! Bravo Sir, Bravo! I congratulate you. You are right in every last point, except that I was shot in the shoulder, but the transformation seems to have shifted the wound.” The Frog's clumsy attempts at applause made Prince Sherlock flush with pleasure and puff out his chest in pride.  


“It is nothing but keen observation and a mind trained to interpret the facts.”  


“Do not sell yourself short, dear fellow, it is a feat indeed.” If the shape of his mouth had allowed it, the Frog would have smiled in admiration. “Dr. John H. Watson, army surgeon, retired, at your service,” he introduced himself.  


“You may call me Holmes, everybody save my brother calls me such,” Prince Sherlock gave as reply. “Now tell me the whole story of your puzzling problem, leave nothing out! This Sorcerer intrigues me, and I would like to know everything I can. How did you come to be cursed by him?”  


“I don't rightly know myself, Holmes. The only explanation I can give is that I became the victim of some terrible misunderstanding. As you rightly deduced, I returned from Afghanistan and was on my way to London so that I might find lodgings and recuperate from my wound and illness. On my way through this forest a man suddenly accosted me. He said that his name was Moriarty and that he was a Sorcerer by trade. He must have been insane, for next he claimed that he had read my future in last night's teacup and that it would be detrimental to his health if he allowed me to become a biographer. Next thing I knew, I was transformed and the Sorcerer was gone.”  


“By Jove!” Holmes ejaculated. “What an interesting conundrum you present me with, Dr. Watson. Fear not, for Sherlock Holmes is on the case, and I shall find a way to return you to your rightful body and bring Moriarty to justice. But I shall have to tread carefully; currently Moriarty is the most dangerous man in the kingdom. ”  


Frog Watson's heart filled with hope at this exclamation. “I thank you most sincerely!” he cried. “You, Sir, have given me hope where none was before. I hate to abuse your generosity any further, but I have been alone for many months, and I miss company and conversation. Would you perchance not mind putting up with me as a lodger, to share room and board with me, until such a time as I can make my own way in the world again?”  


At any other time Prince Sherlock would have seen to the bottom of the matter immediately and guessed the reason behind the Frog's bold request. But the curse was of such malevolence that it fogged the mind of everyone who could lift it, and wiped it clean of thoughts that would lead to the solution of the matter. And so Prince Sherlock merely said,  


“Impossible, dear Sir Frog. I'm a solitary man and don't suffer company gracefully, or at all if I can avoid it. I will take on your case, but do not ask any more of me.”  


“Very well,” the Frog said, disappointed but not surprised. Then an idea came to him. He disliked resorting to trickery, but his desperate situation called for desperate measures, and while he enjoyed a bath as much as any man, he still wished he could enjoy it in a more civilised manner. With hot water and in a tub.  


“Please let me shake your hand before you leave. I crave the civility of the act,” Frog Watson pleaded, and Prince Sherlock could not find it in him to deny such a simple wish.  


But as he leaned forward to offer his hand to the Frog, his prized magnifying glass fell out of his breast pocket and into the water. The Prince let out a dismayed cry and was on the ground in an instant, but even with his arm submerged up to his neck he could not reach the bottom of the pond.  


“Oh, what misfortune!” said he. “This was my best magnifying glass and it served its purpose splendidly. I would move into the water but I'm afraid of stepping on it.”  


“I could fetch it for you,” the Frog Doctor offered not at all unselfishly, “though I would consider it a great favour for a favour if you in turn would take me back to your home and put up with my company for a while.”  


The Prince looked shrewdly at the Frog, and then nodded decisively.  


“Very well, a favour for a favour it shall be!”  


The Frog jumped into the water with a great splash and in short order hopped onto shore with the magnifying glass safely in his mouth.  


“Cursed Frog saliva,” the Prince muttered in thanks. “I shall have to test it for its chemical properties.” That said, he turned around without another word and the Frog took his lack of protest as permission to hop behind him. His larger than usual size gave the Frog an advantage to other frogs, and he kept up easily with Prince Sherlock's long-legged stride. In short order they reached the palace.  
   


Upon realising where they were going and who his companion really was, the Frog Doctor was properly awed to discover that he was in the company of royalty. But he was a gentleman as well as a frog, and well versed in keeping his opinion to himself. He followed the Prince into the great dining room of the castle, where King Mycroft was just sitting down for an early dinner.  


“Brother, Dr John Watson. Dr. Watson, my brother King Mycroft,” Prince Sherlock introduced them. Frog Watson bowed low, and King Mycroft, in possession of the same keen mind as his brother, saw it all and took it in stride.  


“That Sorcerer is clearly trouble,” he commented, and commenced to dine on roast pigeons and asparagus in white sauce.  


The servants filled a platter for Prince Sherlock as well, but he barely touched it, his eyes taking on a far-away look which meant that he was deep in thought.  


“Are you finished with that?” Frog Watson inquired politely. Prince Sherlock shoved the full platter at him with such careless force that the golden cutlery fell down to the floor with a clatter.  


“I don't have an appetite when confronted with a conundrum,” said he, and the Frog gladly ate what he had left.  


Prince Sherlock served himself some tea and gulped down half a cup in one swallow.  


“Are you done with that?” Frog Watson asked.  


“I was about to use the cup as an ashtray,” commented the Prince. “But if you wish to have it you are welcome to it.” And the Frog gladly drank the tea that was left.  


“It is getting late,” noted the Frog. “Shouldn't we think of retiring?”  


“Rest!” Prince Sherlock spat. “There is nothing more detestable to the active mind than rest. Give me a problem, give me something to do but do not force me into idleness!”  


The Frog did not comment, but his expression said much.  


“In sympathy to your situation,” Prince Sherlock finally relented, “I shall show you a place to lay down your head.” Prince Sherlock was not used to guests, and out of habit he led the way to his own set of rooms.  


“May I rest on your bed?” the Frog asked, and Prince Sherlock, smoking, pacing and deep in thought, waved his hand in a way Frog Watson chose to interpret as permission.  
   


When, hours later, Prince Sherlock collapsed into bed, he was in too much of an exhausted stupor to mind, or indeed notice, the cold and slightly damp form beside him.

Still, he was very much surprised when the next morning he woke not to a frog, but entangled half over and half under an exceedingly handsome man gratefully looking down at him.  


“You let me dine from your plate, drink from your cup and sleep in your bed. Through your selfless actions you lifted the curse and have earned my loyalty and love to the end of my days,” said Watson a-frog-no-longer. And because his eyes were kind, and his body warm, and he tolerated his company much better than anyone else's, Prince Sherlock did not mind the kiss John bestowed upon him.  


Indeed, the kiss was only the first of many liberties he allowed the Doctor to take, and only when they were both sated did Holmes turn his mind back to the problem at hand.  


“I have a plan to bring down the vile Sorcerer Moriarty and save you from ever being cursed again,” he so announced and was glad to see that John's attention was fully on him. “It involves trickery, a ruse, and the highest waterfall in the kingdom.”  
Holmes found a childish glee in surprising his Watson, and he refused to tell any more of his plan until it had come to pass. But in the manner of all happy stories the plan worked wonderfully, and the evil Sorcerer perished to everyone's satisfaction.  


Holmes and his Watson moved out of the palace and into a comfortable set of rooms in London, so that they might be closer to any criminal happenings. And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
